I did one last circuit, taking in all the little details that would make tomorrow memorable for everyone – not just for our visitors but for the Butterworths too. The barrels Matt had borrowed from the brewery to act as little tables; the colourful bunting we’d strung across the courtyard, borrowed from the library; the huge pots of fuchsias and geraniums I’d planted up and dotted everywhere; the trays and trays of polished glasses on loan from Matt’s pub – it all looked so inviting. Even the Portaloos we’d hired were posh ones decorated to look like a row of pastel-painted beach huts.

We’d achieved so much as a team, I thought with a rush of pride, in just a few short weeks. The site was almost unrecognizable from the unloved and untidy place it had been when I’d arrived. The vineyard was immaculate and the winery was pristine and worthy of a visit from royalty. Back at the cottage, I caught sight of myself in the mirror – my flushed cheeks and the twinkle in my eyes – and I realized I’d achieved something for myself too. Gone were the circles under my eyes and the worry lines on my forehead and the tremor in my stomach at the sound of Harvey’s key in the door. Butterworth Wines was far more than just a job for me; it was my home, my haven and my happy place. I felt part of something incredibly special and tomorrow, if the open day went well, maybe Jensen would fall under its spell too …

The open day officially began at noon and our three young car-park attendants were under strict instructions to keep the gates closed until then. At eleven forty-five, I gathered everyone else together on Betsy’s terrace. I’d had some smart black polo shirts made for the day with the Butterworth Wines logo emblazoned on the chest and we’d all paired it with either shorts or jeans. Matt had had to roll the sleeves up on his because his biceps were too big. Clare and I had opted for a size larger than normal, she wanted to wear hers over leggings, I was just feeling bloated at the moment and wanted comfort. Godfrey’s strained a little over his stomach whereas Pippa and Roger, who were both slim and athletic, looked perfectly at home in theirs. We were an assorted bunch, I thought fondly, but already they felt like family and they’d worked so hard these last few weeks. Ted must have been quite special to have engendered such loyalty.

‘Is everyone happy with their roles for today?’ I asked.

Marjorie was overseeing the bar while Betsy would remain ensconced near the refreshments on the terrace to talk to people and Jensen would be a floating pair of hands, acting as host and fielding business enquiries as needed.

‘Absolutely,’ said Roger, rocking on his heels. ‘Can’t wait to get cracking.’